A Token of Love
by Locked Heart Ami
Summary: Elena needs to confront personal demons before she can truly call herself a Turk. What if that means betraying her memories?
1. Chicken Bones and Courage

$ A Token of Love $ ****

$ A Token of Love $

The slums are not a place for those with weak hearts, or those who are afraid to get their hands dirty.

This is not why we were surprised to see the Turks in sector two.

We were surprised because the Turks, with their starched navy suits and their bleached-clean records, seldom lowered themselves to the level of the common folk. Things are different now, of course- but then the Turks were refined, elite, on a totally different level than the rest of Gaia. And the slums, choked, congested, the streets about as safe as yelling _boo_ at a sleeping pit bull- they were the last place we expected to see the Turks.

Not that they had never been here before- they had been. I was six at the time, and didn't understand much except for the fact that three men in blue suits showed up at the inn one night, and the next morning Angus Ruglia was crying because his Da was gone. Two days later, his mother left town with him and his sister, and that was the last we heard of Angus Ruglia.

Still, that was a long time ago, and not much more than excitement was felt among my crowd- the arcade kids- when Melba Alvia waltzed into the game room, declaring that her mother (the owner of the bar) had just served a sloppy blue clad red head with an electric nightstick three beers and a whiskey. The alcohol was of very little interest to us, eleven-year-old kids as we were, but the man at the bar was of much more importance. Blue suit equals, Turk. Sloppy red head Turk, equals Reno. Reno with a weapon, equals trouble- at least, for the adults. For the children such as me, it was moderately interesting- but it certainly couldn't hold up against _Space Invaders II: The Return of the Space Invaders._

"Meh... heh... heh... he- darn!" Jessie shook her head and leaned against the gamebox, folding her arms. "There I go. No more quarters. You gonna give it a go, Marianne?"

Marianne shook her head. "Naw. I en't any good at the one. Ellie?"

"No. No point. I'm saving my quarters." I grinned and jingled them in my pocket. "I heard that _Yamcha Dim Sum III_ is coming out in July."

"No way I'm waiting that long," yawned Marianne. "I'm bored already, neways. You guys still wanna hang out here, or we gonna go to SOLDIER headquarters?"

"Yeah! Let's go!" Jessie agreed, and we slipped out of the crowded arcade into the freedom of the night.

We weren't actually going to SOLDIER headquarters- that was located above the plate, out of the slums. _Our_ SOLDIER headquarters was a little hide-away Marianne had found, an abandoned alleyway fire escape covered on three sides by canvas curtains. It was the perfect place for three little girls- a refuge where we could share our hopes, our dreams, the fantasies that drew us out of the slums on the wings of ambition, if just for a few minutes. So many adventures were realized there, adventures that faded into stardust, forgotten, whenever we left.

But there would be no wings and no stardust tonight- tonight we had a much more realistic subject.

The Turks were in sector two.

After much (well, a few minutes) thoughtful conversation on why the Turks were here and what they wanted (Marianne thought they heard about _Space Invaders II_, but Jessie and I found this unlikely), Marianne stretched. "We need snacks. Food for thought. Hold on." She slipped out of SOLDIER headquarters into the dark street, blonde hair whispering along behind her. Jessie and I waited patiently until we heard the familiar "get back here, you little thief!" and Marianne slipped, glowing and triumphant, back into SOLDIER headquarters with two bags of those sticky sugary hard candies called chicken bones in her slender white hands. The dubious method Marianne had used to acquire the raw calories, however, was of very little interest to me and Jessie, whom promptly ripped open the bag and passed it around.

"Why are they called chicken bones, anyway?" asked Jessie, speaking through a mouthful. "I mean, who'd want to eat chicken bones?"

"Whoever invented them was probably drunk at the time," said Marianne wisely.

"And how do you reach that conclusion?"

"Well, think about it. He named a candy _chicken bones_."

"Yeah, definitely drunk," agreed Jessie. "Either that or they had a Turk leaning over their shoulder." We were none of us very clear on what she meant by this, but it was funny so we laughed anyway.

"Once I got a real chicken bone caught in my throat. I almost _died_." Declared Marianne.

"That's not exactly something to be proud of, May-may," I laughed.

When I stopped laughing, however, I realized something was wrong. There was dead silence in the alleyway- you could have heard a cricket chirping, if there had been any crickets in the slums around to chirp. The usual noise of the adjoining street- crying children, yelling merchants, gossipy old geezers- had faded away until you could have heard the proverbial pin drop. Then we heard a voice.

"Excuse me, you said this was _how_ much?"

It was obviously some customer complaining to a shopkeeper, but that didn't explain the dead silence that allowed us, several yards away, to hear it, or the cool, confident, satisfied tone the question had been asked in.

I exchanged glances with Jessie and Marianne and, each of us cued by the confusion in the other two girls' eyes, we silently slid out of SOLDIER headquarters and along the alley until we could peek out from around the brick wall and figure out what was happening. It probably would have looked funny to anyone watching us- three little head- and- shoulders popping out from behind the alleyway by the funeral home. But no one laughed, because no one was watching- everyone had his or her eyes trained on the scene lit by a streetlamp like some ominous spotlight. The Turk Tseng stood in the middle of a bare patch- everyone had backed away from him- with a young news-crier thrown petrified to the ground at his feet.

"I, er, I said it was two- that it was, free, Mr. Tseng, sir," gulped the horrified little boy. 

"Did you, now?"

"That's not what I heard."

These comments came from Rude and Reno, whom I looked for and was able to make out in the shadows by Tseng's side. The paperboy looked so terrified that he grabbed a newspaper, shoved it at Tseng and ran like the hounds of hell were chasing him.

Tseng looked at the headline and calmly threw the paper to the ground. "OK. Let's go."

And then, just as they began to walk and people cautiously began to speak again, Jessie stooped, picked up a stone and hurled it at Tseng. It hit him square in the back.

Tseng turned around slowly as the crowds went quiet again, his eyes travelling over the people on the street. "Who. Threw. That." Waiting a second, but getting no answer, he turned to the Turk beside him and nodded. "Rude?"

Rude gave a half-salute and walked directly into our alleyway. We all shrank back, horrified, but he paid no attention to either Marianne or I, instead grabbing Jessie hard by the shoulder and half-marching, half-dragging her back to Tseng.

Tseng smiled slightly and nodded to Rude, whom fell back behind him again, beside Reno. Jessie looked scared out of her wits as Marianne and I exchanged agonized glances. A chicken bone dropped out of Marianne's mouth, which would have been funny if the situation hadn't been so dangerous.

Without warning Tseng lashed out at Jessie, grabbing the poor girl by the collar and lifting her struggling into the air.

"I've killed people for less than that." Tseng said.

"He-help!" Jessie said.

"Reno?" Tseng said.

Reno stepped forward, brandishing his nightstick. And that's when I made my move. Feeling almost as though it was someone else acting, I darted in front of Tseng and ordered, "Let her go."

Tseng looked at me as though I was a rebellious piece of bubble gum on his shoe. "What?"

I spit my remaining chicken bones at his feet. "Let. Her. Go. You big jerk."

Tseng seemed still unbelieving. "What did you just say to me? You obviously don't realize who you're talking to."

"I am talking to Mister Jordan Tseng, leader of the Turks, soldier of Shinra, major-league asshole who won't let go of my best friend."

Tseng didn't move. He looked at me. I looked at him. Then he slowly lowered Jessie to the ground. "Take the brat kid and go. GO!"

I didn't move, my rage still unbroken, until Jessie tugged my arm. Then my courage failed me and I darted away with her and Marianne, back into the safety of the dark.

"Thanks, Ellie," Jessie breathed when we had gotten far away enough to feel safe. "I thought he was going to kill me!"

"I couldn't let that happen. We're best friends!" I whispered, and we hugged tightly.

"Man, I couldn't believe you!" declared Marianne when we were finished. "Ellie, your eyes looked all different- they went all like fire, sort of. You looked like a soldier, girl!"

The rest of the evening was spent in the arcade, Jessie and Marianne's descriptions of my heroic act getting progressively more creative as they recounted it over and over to the other kids. I felt proud of myself from the tips of my toes to the top of my head, a feeling that didn't leave me until I went to bed.

In the middle of the night, I woke up with a strange hand covering my mouth.


	2. Frozen Tears

"Don't scream

"Don't scream."

I bit my lip so hard I thought I tasted blood.

"Don't move."

I was stiffer than a board.

"Now, I'm going to let you go, and you aren't going to try to get away, are you?"

I shook my head carefully.

The lights went on as my mouth was uncovered. I took a deep breath of air, my blood running cold as I saw what was around me.

The Turks were in my room.

My assailant- Tseng- waited for a second, then said, "Now, you're going to come with us. Understand?"

I nodded and began to get out of bed, forgetting in my fear something that Tseng definitely noticed. "And, uh, get some clothes on," he ordered, turning red and spinning to face the wall. Reno and Rude followed his example, Reno only after a whack across the head.

I trembled with cold and fear as I pulled on underwear, a sweat suit and sneakers without socks. Tseng risked a glance over his shoulder. "Done? Good. Let's go."

He led the way downstairs and I, flanked by Reno and Rude, had no choice but to follow. Reno knocked over a lamp on his way down- Mother's favorite, with little rosebuds and hummingbirds all over it. He froze, but Tseng motioned to him to keep going. "I checked the Shinra records for this family- they're heavy sleepers- hurry up."

Reno muttered a "yesmisterTseng" and followed again, slightly abashed.

Out the front door and in the dingy street, Tseng paused, then pointed to a luxury convertible totally out of place it the slums. "Reno. Hotwire it." It took Reno less than five minutes, then with greasy hands and triumphant smile he walked back to us. "All set, Mr. Tseng."

Tseng got in the driver's seat and Reno got in beside him, leaving Rude and me for the back. As Tseng took off with a squeal of tires, I wondered if anyone could hear me if I screamed.

"Not likely," said Rude. "Well, they probably could, but I doubt they'd pay attention."

"Oh… I didn't realize I'd spoken out loud, Mr. Rude."

"Just Rude is fine. And it's OK- but you're not acting much like that little hellcat we met at the marketplace, now, are you?"

_Of course, _I realized, my blood going icy. _That's what this is all about. They remember what happened at the marketplace and now… _I stroked my throat once, ginger in my touch… _And now I'm going to pay the price._

By the time Tseng hit the brakes, we were well out of Sector 2 and on the outskirts of an area I didn't recognize, the neighborhood seeming seedy enough but the edge of a forest not fifty meters away.

The building Tseng led us into didn't seem to belong in this scummy area at all. It was clean and poshly cold inside, like a joint hotel and office totally empty of any life. We wordlessly took a lift to the second floor, where Tseng opened a door with a key and motioned into what was apparently an incredibly expensive hotel room. It was also incredibly _messy. _Dirty clothes covered the floor, beer cans and wine bottles seemed to be firmly rooted to every available surface. There was also a plate of cold pizza by the door, which Reno grabbed and promptly started on with no embarrassment whatsoever.

"Well, here we are. Sector 1 Shinra headquarters. There's your room, kid." Tseng motioned to a door by the windows. On investigation, it was a bedroom- cleaner than the rest of the apartment and with a lock on the door.

_Well, that's something, _I thought. _At least I don't have to worry about getting knocked off in my sleep._

As if guessing my thoughts, Rude turned to me. "You're pretty little, you're probably tired. Why don't you hit the sack now? We're gonna stay up and watch the TV, but if you close the door you probably wouldn't be able to hear us."

I nodded mutely and fled to my "bedroom", locking the door and shutting off the lights in less than a second. I pulled off my shoes, checking the clock. _11:12. Well… maybe I can escape later. _I lay back on my bed, closing my eyes.

_Because right now…_

_I'm just…_

_Too…_

_Tired…_

__*

I woke up to the red neon glow of my alarm clock in my eyes.

_3:42 AM._

_…_

_I can escape!_

__I leapt to my feet, my socks making no noise on the carpet. Listening carefully, all I detected were three unique patterns of snores.

The Turks were asleep.

I slipped into the main room, where the Turks lay sprawled in armchair, couch and armchair, either all dead drunk or all dead tired. _So, what do I do now? I could try to leave the way I came in… but that might set off an alarm. Better if I…_

I caught sight of a particular door and smiled. _…Go by the balcony._

As I slipped from the hotel room onto the porch, the cold night air hit me like a slap._ Oh, well. I better get used to it, 'cause I'll be running at least all night. Now, let's see…._

The balcony was about two stories up, but I was pretty sure I could make the fall, so I promptly threw one leg over the railing and hoisted myself to the narrow ledge between the rail and the drop. _Okay… now… jump._

I jumped.

Then, in a split second, I realized something was wrong. I was suspending upside down in midair. Gritting my teeth and wriggling around, I saw that my pant cuff had caught on a nail pointing out of the wood.

_Of all the damn twists of fate. I have no choice, if I fall this way I'll die for sure. _Swallowing my pride with my hope for survival, I called, "Tseng! Rude! Reno!"

I heard a muffled complaint from Reno in the living room, then Tseng's voice. "Kid? Uh… where are you?"

"Hanging off the balcony," I said with something close to resignation in my voice. "Would you come help me?"

"Hanging off the- what-" Tseng appeared, uninverted but not unwelcomed, on the right side of the balcony above me, Reno and Rude materializing by his side a second later. "How the hell did you get like that?"

Rude didn't waste time, seeing the danger- he grabbed me by the outstretched arm and pulled me back onto the porch.

"What the frig?" said Reno, echoing what I suppose must have been everyone's thoughts.

"I was trying to run away," I said flatly.

"What?" said Tseng in utter bewilderment.

"Look, I know you're going to kill me," I began, rather loosing it, "And I'm sorry I tried to run away, but you won't draw it out or anything, will you? I mean, at least let me write a letter to my mother-"

Rude understood what I thought was happening first. He tilted back his head, deep, rumbling laughs filling the night air. Tseng realized too, but instead of laughing, he simply looked amused. "You thought we were going to kill you?"

"…Yes."

"And why would we do that?"

"Oh, come on, there's no other reason for you to have carted me all the way out here! Stop playing games- why don't you just get it over with?" I was hysterical now, half-frozen tears streaking my cheeks.

Tseng shook his head and disappeared into the room for a second, then reappeared with a tape recorder in his hand. Switching it on and covering the microphone, he asked, "What's your name?"

"…Ellie."

"Just Ellie?"

"Elena… Elena Angelo."

"Okay," he said, uncovering the microphone and beginning to speak with an official tone. "March 26, year classified. Today is the day that Elena Angelo of Sector 2…" a beat and he grinned to himself.

"Today is the day Elena Angelo of Sector 2 begins her training as a Turk."


	3. Life Lessons

And so I became a Turk.  
I learned how to keep a cool, calm demeanor always. I learned how to keep my energy up, how to stalk, how to notice if the tiniest detail was even slightly awry in any given situation. I learned how to fire a gun- at eleven, I learned how fire a gun.  
I learned about my companions, too. Tseng was twenty, Rude was eighteen. And Reno- big, dangerous, terrifying Reno- was only three years older that me. A child, some would say- but as soon as you step into one of those blue suits, rest assured you'll never be a child again.  
I learned more than their ages- I learned their lives. Reno had run away from an abusive father at ten. Tseng had a slight limp from when a bullet had pierced his leg during his own training, which had been a hell of a lot less gentle than mine. The only reason Rude wore sunglasses was because his eyes were incredibly sensitive to light. Once Reno, acting as the ass he was, yanked off Rude's shades during training- the response from Rude was similar to what might have happened if Reno had delivered an uppercut.  
They learned me, too. My incredible fear of fire, my best friends Marianne and Jessie, my tendency to dress all in white. How I loved video games with a passion and hated hot dogs with a vengeance. They had no secrets and, in turn, neither did I.  
Tseng was my principle teacher- perhaps to his dismay, as I'll never forget his expression as the time came to teach me about the Birds and the Bees. Reno was a jerk, hanging around to belittle me- and Rude was a friend. Rude always had a kind word, no matter what was happening, and an instant bond was formed. We still have that bond- it's the kind that stays with you forever.  
I cut my hair. Before, it had been shoulder length, and would start out each day in a neat twist- and end at night with my mother combing out my wild locks with the air of a martyr, carefully pulling out the hairclips and ribbons that held on in the spirit of grim determination. The new style, the one I got at fourteen, was just above my shoulders- neat and practical and cool, just what it should have been. At fifteen, Tseng ordered me the blue suit, and by the time I was seventeen, I was no longer Ellie. I was Elena now, or Miss Angelo, or to my great dismay ma'am. To the other Turks I was El Dorado- a joking title to Tseng, a mean-spirited taunt to Reno, a loving pet name to Rude. But of course I would never be Ellie again.  
When I was nineteen, Tseng handed me a parcel wrapped in white paper. Inside was a silver handgun, a pair of white gloves, and a dog tag.  
I was a Turk.  



	4. On Top of the World

Reno has a hangover.

Although I can tell by just looking at him, I don't even have to do that. He grunts as he pulls himself into the staff lounge and pours some rancid coffee into a Styrofoam cup.

"Don't drink that stuff," Tseng orders, laughing. "It'll melt your teeth away."

I hope our radioactive coffee _does_ melt his teeth away. It would satisfy me to no end.

"Ha, ha. Wipe that smirk off your face, El Dorado. I had a great night." Reno throws back half the cup of coffee and sends me a lopsided grin.

I look at Rude and can see his eyebrows rising under his glasses.

"I'll just bet you did," agrees Tseng. "But get over it, because we're on the job now."

"Oh, oh, sounds like Tseng-sama is gonna cart us off on another big quest. What is it now?" Reno finishes the coffee and crunches the Styrofoam in his fist. It makes a satisfying snapping sound. I highly suspect that whatever was in the coffee must have weakened the cup.

"Those damn fools at AVALANCHE are at it again. Blowing up whatever the hell they come across in five minutes with enough bombs."

"It's surely more planned out than that," I say, taking a seat, crossing my legs and whipping out a pen and notepad to jot down the case details. "What happened?"

"Some Shinra office thing, sector one of the slums. Totally leveled. Bugs the heck out of me when I was having such a good weekend. For god's sake, Reno, tuck your shirt in."

"Okay," says Reno, not moving. "So what's the plan of action?"

"I've been thinking about that. I've been really busy cleaning out our records, destroying, uh, certain things- you know. I'm not done yet and it's going to take me a while. I'll keep charge of this operation, and we'll all be involved, but Elena- you're from the slums, you'll be a huge asset to this mission. So for a lot of it we'll be relying on you."  
"I jump for joy. When are we starting?"

"Now. When did you think? Elena, I think I'll send you and Rude out to Shinra office B to pick up some more case details."

"Let's get going, then," says Rude, and I snap my briefcase shut and rise. "We'll see you two later, when we get back," I add.

"It'll be too soon, I'm sure," mutters Reno, pouring himself another cup of coffee.

*

"God, it's so screwed up," I complain later, while Rude and I pore over the files. "Tseng hit it dead on when he said they just fried the first place they ran into."

"There's a motive somewhere." He mutters. "Has to be. AVALANCHE isn't wise but they're smart. And that means they know something we don't."

"Yeah, but that frigging bothers me." I sip from a martini glass on the table between us, then randomly pick up a paper from the table. "So. They have names."

"Aliases, likely," Rude replies. "They'd have to be pretty stupid to use their real identities."

"Hmm… Biggs Giza… Wedge Hasbroker… Barret Doctorson… Jessie Mistletoe."

"How irritating, not a single lead."

I shiver. _Jessie Mistletoe. The Jessie I knew… I never even found out her last name. Was it Hylian? It might have been Hylian… I can't remember. Either that or I never knew in the first place._

"I think we're gonna have to use the modern route," Rude says. "Elena, could you hack?…"

I seat myself at the computer and start to boot it up. "I'll be hard pressed to find anything more than Swiss bank accounts, Rude. Terrorist groups don't exactly advertise."

"Well, it's AVALANCHE. Who knows?" he shrugs and takes a sip from a water bottle. I watch his reflection in the computer screen as he walks to me and runs his hand along a strand of my hair. "God, you're so beautiful."

I laugh and catch his hand, holding it lightly for a second, then dropping it. To anyone else we would have looked like lovers, but that's not so- we're friends, our friendship so deep that boundaries don't really matter anymore. If he wants to tell me he's beautiful, he can, and I won't care.

I type furiously, pounding my will into the keyboard. Let me find something. Let me show Tseng again just how much more capable I am than Reno. Finally, a page of text comes up onto the screen and I breath in, the taste of triumph glorious.

"So, you got their Swiss bank accounts," says Rude, laughing a little and leaning forward to read what I found.

"I got a hell of a lot more than that," I reply, my satisfaction evident. "They're as good as gone."

"So, what did you find?" Rude leans over my shoulder and reads the text. "All this is, is-"

"Encrypted. But I can run that through a scanner and have the real stuff in less than a minute."

"Well, then, let's do it."

I save the page onto a disc and stand up, stretching. "We'll wait for tomorrow. It's five, our work day is over, and Tseng wants to know what we found."

"I'll show him," Rude says, taking the disc. "It's only fair, because you do all the work."

"Reno wouldn't care," I tease.

"Reno's an ass, Elena," Rude replies, putting the disc in his briefcase.

"That's not nice, Rude." I say, mockingly scolding him as we leave the "Study Hall" in Shinra College and walk down the marble corridors. "Isn't Reno your drinking buddy? Aren't you going to the bar with him later?"

"He knows he's an ass, El Dorado. He's adapted to it. Yeah, we are going to the bar- hey, do you want to come?"

I shake my head and tuck a little loose hair behind my ears. "Sorry, maybe tomorrow. I'm going to-"

Rude shakes his head. "Don't even say it. I know what you're thinking. Overtime again?"

"It's not overtime if I'm doing it at home," I say defensively. "Besides, I have a feeling about this case."

"What? It's gonna get us all a big promotion?"

"Don't be stupid, Turk is the highest promotion there is. No," I say, cracking my knuckles with a mischievous smile, "I think that this one is going to be… fun."

Rude's eyebrows shoot up above his shades. "Well, I wish I shared your enthusiasm, but right now the only fun I want to have is a good vodka at the bar."

We've reached the college exit, and as we go through the revolving doors, he shakes his head. "Just don't wear yourself out, OK?"

"OK. See you, Rude."

"Bye, 'Lena."

I walk away from him, my high heels clicking on the dirty sidewalk. My apartment is connected to Shinra Headquarters by what kids call skyways, those hallway-like tubes connecting two close buildings. I usually enter Shinra first and then take the skyway to my apartment building, and that's what I do, my heels now making a binging noise on the marble steps.

Inside I ignore the feeble "Miss Angelo?" from the secretary, as I always do. She's dead terrified of me, probably from one of those families that say women belong in the kitchen. Or maybe she just realizes I could kill her right then and no one would question me. Either way, I scare the crap out of her, and I see it in her face as I walk by.

I can feel her eyes on my back as I walk down the hallway, past the boardroom, past the recreation lounge. I used to spend a lot of time in the recreation lounge, playing video games 'til I was flat broke, but not anymore- a lot of the games are Shinra-made and therefore Shinra-oriented, meaning that as soon as I became an official Turk, I became a main character in ninety percent of them. When you realize you can play as yourself on the "Turkish Delight" gamebox or that you're a party member of "Sakura Moon" or- worst of all- that if you play as Rufus Shinra on the newest edition of "Yamcha Dim Sum", you end up rescuing yourself, it becomes disturbing on _so _many levels. So I walk right past the lounge, as well. I'm not in the mood to see an animated clone today.

I'm not sure about the other rooms as I walk past the offices several floors up. It's mostly just cubicle workers, spending their days writing memos and copying faxes, although once in a blue moon you'll catch sight of an executive. I notice Reeve by the photocopier in one room. Odd guy, he creeps me out, always talking about this amazing stuffed cat of his. The stuffed cat- Cait Sith is its name, but you say it Kat Shee- creeps me out too. Reeve doesn't like me either, I know for a fact he considers me merciless and frozen- which is true, and should be, as I'm a Turk. Still, I quicken my pace a little.

Finally reaching the skyway and crossing into the big condo complex where I live, I take the lift to the highest floor- the penthouse apartments, the best of the best. I stop by door 177, and my voice-activated lock beeps and flickers. "Name?" It demands in a tinny, mechanical voice.

"Elena Angelo, Shinra Turk."

"Name and occupation verified. Code name and pass code?"

"Elena Boundless Angel One. 1SA77K6U542R2A."

"Code name and pass code verified. Voice status verified. Entrance granted." The lock clicks and the door slides open for me.

I walk into my home and flop on a chair with a sigh of relief. My apartment is spotless and somewhat Spartan, with a white-tiled floor and all-white furniture and countertops. The windows are floor-to-ceiling on any direction with a good view. Standing outside, they're black and mirrorlike- tinted for privacy- but the view is spectacular from here. No matter how horrible my day or how tired I am, seeing the sunset from here always gives me a rush, like I'm on top of the world. Given how tall my building is, in all likelihood I actually am, but that never diminishes the wondering beauty of the sinking star.

The sun, actually, is already beginning to set. I watch it for a minute, hands pressed against the windowpanes, then sit back on the couch with a sigh and begin to set up my laptop. A little green light shines and the screen flickers to life just as the last golden ray disappears over the horizon.

I exhale slowly as I type in my username. I'm not exactly sure what I'm looking for, but I'm certain it's going to be a long night.


	5. To Fly Without Wings

June Davidson Normal June Davidson 2 113 2001-11-03T03:44:00Z 2001-11-03T03:44:00Z 1 2027 11555 96 23 14190 9.2720 0 0 

                I yawn.

                "Elena has been working overtime again," comments Reno to no one in particular.

                "No, I haven't," I say, then yawn again. Rude shakes his head.

                "Yes, you have," says Reno smugly. "You've got huge ugly dark circles under your eyes. God, woman, you have no _life._"

                "Drink some coffee, Elena," Tseng suggests. "And as for you, Reno, it wouldn't hurt your work record to do a little extra yourself."

                _God. I must look really bad if Tseng thinks I should drink the _coffee, I think, as Reno mutters mutinously at our leader. Rude goes over to the coffee machine and gets me a cup.

                "Thanks," I murmur, sipping it and grimacing. Still, the caffeine helps, and I'm already beginning to feel more awake.

                "OK." Tseng says, and he motions for us to sit down at the board table. As I do so, I notice I'm wearing two different-coloured socks. _…Oops._

Tseng waits until we've all had a seat, then opens his briefcase and pulls out a stack of papers. "Well. Elena, Rude, what did you find?"

                "Code names," I reply. "Wedge Hasbroker, Jessie Mistletoe, Barret Doctorson, Biggs Giza. They probably are all aliases, as Rude pointed out, but they all smack of Sectors two and one of the slums. Especially Giza. I remember there was a Ruglia family in Sector two, there are a lot of Wutai immigrants there."

                "I see." Tseng strokes his chin for a second, then drops his hand back to the table. "So you think we should start looking in Sector two?"

                "Sector one," I say, a little too quickly.

                "Uh, oh," says Reno, grinning widely, as he always does if I say something betraying any emotion whatsoever. "Looks like itty-bitty El Dorado is afraid to see any of her old pals."

                I lean across the table and raise a hand to slap that wiseass smile right off his face, hardly realizing I'm doing it.

                "Reno. Elena." Tseng's tone is sharp. "Enough."

                I lean back. Reno's smile fades. Tseng looks hard at both of us. "We will start off research in Sector one, as Elena suggested. After all, that is where the office was. But if nothing is found there we'll move on to Sector two. We'll move out day after tomorrow, until then, all of you find more information any way you can. And Reno, Elena, keep far away from each other's throats. Case closed, understand?"

                Reno and I nod. Inside, however, I am fuming. _How dare he bring that up. How _dare _he, when he knows how much it hurts…. _As though reading my thoughts, Rude touches my hand. I smile weakly at him and continue to speak to Tseng. "We actually aren't sure what the motive was. Most people didn't know it was affiliated with Shinra at all, it was that small. The bureau of Sector one health and transportation, wasn't it, Rude?"

                Rude nods. "Yeah, but we'll soon find out. It's odd though- any important documents were coded and censored up, all that was left were records of who entered and left the slums and who got doctor's checkups at any given time."

                _Who entered and left the Slums?_

_                I would be the only of my childhood friends in that group, because of when I left to start training._

_                …No… wait… that's not right. Marianne would be there too. I remember…_

*

                I was nineteen.

                It was the same day Tseng had handed me that white-paper parcel over coffee with Reno and Rude, a genuine smile on his face as I slowly registered the fact that I was an official Turk. I had been giddy as a child at her birthday party- not that I had ever had birthday parties- I hadn't, but no old grievance could embitter me right then. Tseng had ordered me off to the firing range- I was as hyperactive as a six-year-old, and needed to be rid of my extra energy. I was happily blowing away small red and black targets when suddenly a voice came from the stall next to me. "You shoot like a rookie, girl!"

                I wasn't about to let anyone mar my special day, and leaned into their firing range to give them a piece of my mind. I took a deep breath and got ready to glare the girl down-  

                Then I blinked stupidly.

                I gulped.

                "M-Marianne?"

There was no mistaking the young woman with the cocky grin. She was older, of course, but I could tell it was her- same weave of rippling golden hair down to her waist, same clear, porcelain skin, and although her eyes had the beginnings of Mako around the edges of the irises, you could still see the old violet-navy shade framing her pupils.

                "Hey, Ellie," said Marianne with a mischievous grin. "Or are you Miss Angelo now?"

                "M-May-May!" I gasped, and with no further ado, vaulted the low wall separating us and threw my arms around her. We embraced for a second, then I let go, eyes brimming. "May-May! What are you doing here? Up above the plate? Why are you-"

                Marianne struck a pose, bright smile never fading. "I'm in SOLDIER! En't that something? Never thought it could happen to me, I tell you." She hadn't let go of her gun, and fired it from the hip, hitting the target perfectly. "Or maybe I'm just lucky," she finished cockily, putting her gun on the table.

                "My god, I can't believe it! I swear, I never thought I'd see you again! May-May-May…."

                She gave a lock of my hair an affectionate tug. "Don't go getting all sentimental, young lady, you're a Turk now, remember? Come on, let's go have lunch and we can bore each other to death with life stories, right!"

                She grinned at me. I nodded, my own smile starry-bright. I couldn't believe it- it seemed too good to be true.

                And it was too good to be true. I could never be Ellie again, remember? I just wish that I could have seen what would happen in her eyes and saved the both of us so much pain….

*

                I shrug off my blue suit and white shirt and change into short jeans and a spaghetti-strapped white top. Power symbols will get me nowhere, and my ploy is risky enough as it is. I check my teeth and apply a little passion fruit lipgloss, then slide into a pair of white sneakers and slip out the apartment door.

                I checked with Tseng about my plan. He was hesitant- he always is- about me being at risk, but even he couldn't deny that any information I gleaned would be invaluable. _But be careful, El Dorado, _he said. _Turk isn't another word for invincible._

I go through the skyway and leave through the Shinra offices, the marble tiles in the entranceway squeaking under my sneakers. Outside it is raining, so I walk under lattices. It isn't cold, but I am wearing a white cotton shirt. Enough said.

                Eventually I reach my destination. The bar is smoky and seedy and scummy, and I'm glad I don't go there often. Inside a smutty and scantily clad barmaid on a never-ceasing cycle of refilling drinks glances up at my arrival. She doesn't like me, I don't like her. We are from opposite walks of life and can't stand the hypocrisy in one another, so we both keep to ourselves. It's not her I'm here for anyway.

                I glance around the smoky tavern for a few seconds, feeling- as Tseng's little sister Lee would say- "losted as a lost duck". A guy sitting on a stool by the bar makes a risqué comment and I slap him across the back of the head. He's so drunk that he either doesn't care or doesn't recognize me as a Turk, and he stands up. "You wanna fight?" he mumbles, words slurred.

                My muscles tingle. That's not why I came here, but if he wants a good battle, he'll get one.

                "No need, Angel," says a deep, rich voice behind me, and I risk a glance over my shoulder. It's the classic image of a biker- a tall, sinewy man wearing denim and studded black leather, his long loose hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. He has a gun at his waist and a knife in his boot and makes no effort to hide either, instead stepping forward and punching the old drunk guy so hard he literally flies a couple of feet. Leaving the barmaid to look after the man, he turns to me and smiles. "Well, well, it's been a while."

                "Charmed as always, Gatti," I reply, no weakness in my voice, just confidence and poise. 

                "Come on, me and the boys are at the back table, you're going to honour us with your presence, right?" He runs a hand down my arm with a remarkable lack of subtleness.

                "Do you think I came here for my health?" I shoot back. He shakes his head, grinning, and slips a guiding arm around my waist as we walk to the "back table" which is so well enshrouded in tobacco smoke that there might as well have been walls. It's surrounded by more of Gatti's gang- Death Train, they call themselves- dressed in denim and suede, playing cards and drinking like there's no tomorrow. Gatti grabs a guy in one chair by the collar, throws him to the ground, and offers the seat to me. "Ladies first," he says smoothly, and waits for me to sit down before taking his position at the head of the table.

                There's scattered applause and cheering from the various members of Death Train as I slide into my seat. "Angel, baby," calls one blond punk a few seats down, "You never come see us anymore. We feel so alone. We need some pretty girls to help us feel better."

                "Shut up, Chris," Gatti calls to him, then turns to me as the barmaid approaches the table. "You going to want something, Angel?"

                "A martini would be fine," I reply graciously. The barmaid makes an amusing sniffing noise as Gatti throws her a couple dollars and she whisks off to get my drink, which she comes back with and sets down with a clink before once again turning on her heel.

                I sip the bitter, dry elixir and relish the taste, not in any hurry to get to the point. Gatti doesn't seem to urgently want to know why I came, either. "Angel, baby, it's been forever. You never have time for us since you started hanging out with Squeaky and the Troll."

                "Also known as Reno and Rude," I say sniffily, with mock indignation. "They're better company than you and your ruckus."

                "Oh, I see, they're better company than me and the Death Train?" He grins at he, and runs a hand over my hip (_just _my hip, thank you very much) under the table. I make a motion as though to brush him away, and he moves his leather-gloved fingers back without my help. "And you're no _fun, _either. Angel, you need to come out here more." There are scattered mutterings of agreement from around the table, which we both ignore.

                "More civilized," I tease.

                "You're absolutely right, Angel, you and those gun-toting, shade-sporting diabolical Turks are far more civilized than a simply barbaric street gang. Humble bikers, right, Ms. Angelo?"

                We're both playing with fire, and we both know it- we've always been on relatively good terms, but he knows that one wrong move and he'll be staring down the barrel of my gun. I know that if I push him too hard, the Death Train could take me out without breaking a sweat.

                We are equally dangerous to each other, and the feeling makes my adrenaline race, a sparking feeling in my veins.

                But nothing happens. We may be dangerous but we respect each other and won't do anything rash unless we are pushed to it. So strange, though, you wouldn't take either of us for one of the most powerful people above the plate. Not the tall man clad in ripped leather and denim and glittering silver chains with long hair and a tattoo. Not the cute young woman beside him, leaving less than what might be considered altogether proper to the imagination in short-short-short denim cutoffs and a low cut tank top. I swear, you find power in the most unusual places.

                Gatti waits until I'm almost done my drink, then inquires smoothly, "So, to what do we owe this honor, Angel? Given as the Turks are apparently much better company than us, there must be a reason. Or did you just come here to dazzle us with your radiance for a few hours before you ascend again?"

                I finish off my martini. "AVALANCHE, Gatti. They attacked a Shinra base and lucky lucky Elena has been assigned to make them pay. But they're so frigging hard to keep tabs on, so I thought-" I flashed him a quick smile- "I'd come to you."

                "Ah, Angel, it's always business, always business," he says, shaking his head sadly. "You never have any fun anymore, it can't be good for you, baby. Fine, then. AVALANCHE. AVALANCHE. AVA- ah, yes. That cute little rebel group down under the slums."

                "That's the one," I agree. "What do you have on them?"

                Gatti thinks for a second. "I've got lots of records down at headquarters. I'll fax them to you for, let's say, 400 gil?"

                "Done," I say quickly, and rise. "See you all."

                "Whoa, whoa, Angel! Don't run away so fast." Gatti stands up as well. "I'll give you a ride back to Shinra HQ, OK?"

                "I'm not turning down an invitation like that," I laugh, and Gatti smiles at me. We walk out of the bar quietly, Gatti's arm around my shoulders, more to warn off potential thugs than for any romantic reason. Outdoors, it has stopped raining, but it's still wet. I shiver as Gatti starts up his motorcycle- he notices and offers me his coat, which I take. I'd offend him if I didn't.

                "There," says Gatti proudly as the engine purrs to life. "Let's go." He throws one leg over the motorbike and jumps on, and I sit behind him, my arms clasped around his waist so I won't fall off. Then the bike lets out a roar and we speed forward, people on the street jumping out of our way.

                I lean closer to Gatti as we speed along, shrugging my shoulders to draw the leather jacket closer to me. Gatti and the jacket have the same scent- faint sandalwood and cinnamon, like the slums, but nicer. I let out a tiny sigh, making sure it won't be heard over the engine's din. Then I throw back my head, enjoying the feeling of wind battering my face and making my hair fly. I wouldn't want a motorcycle but you'll never get the same feeling of freedom anywhere else.

                In a few minutes, the bike stops by Shinra headquarters, and I hop off smoothly and hand Gatti back his jacket. "Thank you, Gatti, darling."

                "No problem, Angel," he replies, giving me a light kiss on the cheek. "Your wish is my command unless I'm too drunk to know the difference." Then he revs his motor and flies off into the traffic.

                I smile slightly and begin to climb the steps, a warm glow inside… a feeling I haven't experienced for a long time.

                I feel happy.


	6. Fallen Angel, Early Morning Dew

Gatti's fax arrives right on schedule. AVALANCHE consists of sixty members, five of whom are prominent: Barret Wallance, Tifa Lockhart, Wedge Fisheye, Biggs Dew, and Jessie Hylian. My eyes grow wide, but I can't do anything. As though frozen, I continue to read. They're located in Sector Seven. The most probable reason for them blowing up that research thingy in Sector One or Two or whatever is that someone circulated a false rumor that unethical experimentation was being performed there. You can start with a bar called the "Seventh Heaven" if you want to look for them, Angel. Good luck, baby. I shake my head and blink, the reflection of my stunned face in my office mirror my only clue that I'm disturbed. I feel cold inside, so cold that all I can do is think over and over. My god No No NO Not Jessie It's not possible It's not true It can't be true.. "Elena?" I jump. "Mr. Tseng?" He steps into my office, composed, a cup of non-office standard (and therefore non-lethal) coffee in his hand. "Did your. source. get you the information?" I brandish the fax like it's a signed confession from an AVALANCHE member, forcing triumph onto my features. "Right here. It says to start in Sector 7." He nods. "Then we leave tomorrow. We have no time to loose." He begins to leave, then turns back and smiles. "Good work." I smile back. Oh, my god. I'm scum. * "Reno. Rude. Elena. yup, you're all here. Let's go!" We're taking the train to Sector 7, sitting around a table in the First Class Lounge. Reno and Rude nurse beers while Tseng opts for wine and I throw back champagne. Although I'm always careful not to drink too much, I really do not feel like being sober right now. I feel cheerful, but only because I forced myself to. "Destination Sector 7, reached. Would all passengers for Sector 7 please depart now." Says the PA in a tinny, smug voice. I rise mechanically as we prepare to leave. "Rude, do you have my briefcase?" "Yup. Here." He hands it to me and we step off of the train into the station, Reno and Tseng right in front of us. "Does it feel good to be home, El Dorado?" asks Reno. "Shut up," I reply. Cheerfully. Painfully so. Tseng shakes his head at both of us. "Come on, I've gotten us rooms in Sector 7 ShinRa HQ. Let's go." We take the bus to the HQ, which although located in Sector 7, is virtually same building I tried to run away from eleven years ago. Now, however, I'm happy to put my bags inside my room and pour myself a cherry coke, sitting beside Reno on the couch while Tseng and Rude pore over the fax. Rude finally smiles and sits opposite us, walking away from a still-pondering Tseng with a resigned air. "Man, it really sucks when the leader of some bicycle gang knows more about the enemy than you do." "I'm just thankful we got the information, don't care who it came from," replies Tseng, which is an outright lie, of course. Finally, he puts the paper into a file in his briefcase. "Elena, Reno, tonight I want you two to go check out this Seventh Heaven place. OK?" We throw brief looks of disgust at each other. "I have logic," said Tseng quickly. "I have to go back above the plate, I have a business meeting with Heidigger. I'm putting Rude in charge of the record for this case, which means you two are the only guys we have. So there's really no choice, for me or either of you. Got it?" "Yes, Mr. Tseng," I reply quickly, just to put Reno to shame. Rude chuckles softly. "I'll have to leave by tonight, actually," continues Tseng, pouring himself a drink. "That gives me just enough time to set you guys up and gettouta here." "We'll be fine, Tseng." "I hope so, El Dorado," he replies, contemplatively. "But be careful." "We allwiz are Tasinnnngggg baby," assures Reno in a singsong voice. I sigh. Not ten minutes in the residence and already inebriated- must have been all that beer on the train. "Reno, you better not be drunk during the mission," Tseng warns. "Meeeee? Da-runk? Ahv nevah been da-runk in mah life, Tasinnnnnngggggggg man!" "Sure. Never." Tseng closes up his briefcase and sits on a bar stool by the counter. "OK, time to be official. Here's the plan. Rude, Reno, Elena, you head to the Seventh Heaven at nine PM. Reno, Elena, you two try to scout out the AVALANCHE members while Rude keeps a low profile as back-up. If you find more than three of them, then go to plan B." "What's plan B?" "It's in my briefcase somewhere. You'll know when you need it." He opens the attaché case again and hands Rude the file. "I'll be leaving a few hours before the mission starts. Rude, remember you're back- up. Elena, make sure you don't get sentimental. Reno. please stay sober. Good luck, guys." "Thanks, Tseng." "Butcha knowwww it ae-n't like we gonnnna neeeeed it, Tassssssssiiinnnnnnnngggggg baby!" * "Well, here we are." "Lovely seedy little place, isn't it?" remarks Reno, peering up at the flickering neon sign above the "Seventh Heaven's" door. "Just the place you'd expect to run into AVALANCHE." "Talking isn't gonna get us anywhere," Rude reminds us. "Let's go." We swing open the door and step inside, taking in our surroundings quickly. There are maybe seven patrons beside us, four seated at numerous tables, three up drinking at the counter. The barmaid looks like a real slut, wearing a white sports bra and a black mini skirt. I ignore her- maybe she dresses that way for business. If so, it's certainly working, because Reno is already up at the bar asking for something hard. "Get out the file photos," I mutter to Rude as a little girl runs over to the table we selected, dropping a menu at Rude's feet. I try not to smirk as he picks it up for her, smiling. Oddly enough, Rude loves kids. "Hello, I'm Marlene and I will be your server," she says cheerfully. "Hello, I'm Rude and I will be your eater," he replies, deadpan. I've heard him say it before- I think he must have read it somewhere- but I keep my thoughts to myself and instead ask- "Aren't you a little young to work a bar, Marlene?" "Ex-cussse me?" she swells up with righteous indignation. "I'm going to be five next November! Besides, everyone says I'm soooo mature for my age." Rude is laughing into his tie. Composing himself, he says, "OK, let's take a glance at that menu. hmm. I'll have just a beer and some garlic bread, OK?" "Same here," I add. Marlene nods very professionally and runs off to the barmaid, obviously extremely pleased with herself. "Right here," he says, continuing our conversation where we left off by sliding me the file photos. I study them and glance around. "Let's start with- oh!" I almost drop the photo, then slide it back to Rude, saying in an undertone, "The barmaid, she's one." "Which one? Ah. Tifa Lockhart." "And up at the counter, there's two more. Barret Wallance, Biggs Dew." "Well, that's all we needed, just three." He pops open his briefcase and whisks out the file Tseng gave him. "Time for plan B. whatever it is." 


	7. Lighting A Match In The Dark Absence of ...

"So... what's plan B?"

"I'm looking," mutters Rude. The file is encased in a thick manila envelope and sealed with Tseng's signature, just the same way all big Turk missions are documented. "Plan B." Rude holds the open document out to me.

"I can't read that without my glasses, Rude."

"El... you know I hate talking... too much..."

It's kind of funny. "Give me the basic gist, then."

"OK. 'Lena, you're supposed to infiltrate AVALANCHE headquarters... and launch an attack from inside. Just do as much damage as you can, is pretty much all it says. The aim isn't so much to destroy AVALANCHE as it is to give them a good slap across the face. Oh, and it does say for you to take out as many of the actual terrorists as you can. OK?"

"OK. Uh... what are you and Reno gonna be doing?"

He skimmed the paper again. "Uh... it doesn't say."

"What?" I groan.

He tries to look sympathetic and fails miserably, just looking happy to have the night off. "Apparently Tseng thought this was a one-Turk job."

"Stop laughing, you jerk," I say, laughing a little against my own will.

"Hurry up, we only have tonight to get this job done. Get cracking, Elena, and I mean now."

I roll my eyes, but nod, and set about creating an almost-not quite convincing disguise. Take off the blue jacket, untuck the white shirt, and hide my gun in my pocket. I even use a handy elastic band to pull my hair into a small bun, and finally turn to Rude. "Good enough?"

He nods. "Yeah. Go for it, El Dorado, and good luck."

I stand and walk away from the table, settling on a stool in front of the bar. The smutty looking AVALANCHE barmaid- Tifa Lockhart- walks over, a vodka bottle still in her hand. From her lack of worry at addressing a Turk, I can tell she doesn't realize who I am. "Can I help you, miss?"

"Sure," I reply, using a voice slightly higher than usual, with a bit of a Rocket-Town accent. "I'll have a screwdriver, please."

"Comin' right up."

She sets the drink before me, then turns and begins to walk away. I stop her with a carefully crafted sentence, the corners of my mouth turning up into a sardonic smile.

"They say the Turks are after AVALANCHE again."

I'll give her credit for coolness, she doesn't even blink, just turns back to speak to me more easily. "Oh? Is that so?"

I nod, hiding my grin in my shot glass. "Y'know my cousin Cid Highwind works for the ShinRa, he's got all the goods on 'em. AVALANCHE, I mean." Nothing in this statement is true. Cid Highwind was never told any company secrets and he certainly isn't my cousin. But it's keeping Tifa interested, that's what matters. "He says Vice President Rufus has a good hold on 'em now. Says he even has their names, a few of 'em."

Tifa begins to stiffen, though I can tell she's not aware of it. "Handles, I'm sure."

I shrug, projecting carelessness. "Maybe, maybe. After all, they didn't much sound like real names. After all, who'd name their kid-" I lean forward as though sharing a special secret- "Tifa Lockhart?"

Her jaw drops and she nearly looses her hold on the vodka.

I finish my drink, pretending not to notice. "Or Barret Wallance. Or Jessie Hylian. Pretty weird code names, but whatever works, I guess. You know, all that I really wish, ya know what it is?"

"W-what?"

I set down my empty glass. "I wish I could join AVALANCHE. I probably shouldn't be tellin' you this, but it's always been a dream, to help defeat those damn ShinRa. Always been one'a my hopes. Oh, well, who'm I kidding? It'll never happen."

I can practically see the wheels in Tifa's brain turning. Now, here's a girl who wants to join AVALANCHE. she knows ShinRa company secrets. she was brave enough to say so to a girl she didn't know in a bar. So…

I try not to laugh as Tifa leans forward very seriously and says, "You wanna join AVALANCHE?"

"Yeah."

"Then stick around, kid, because we're all right here."

Soon it's finally closing time in the Seventh Heaven. Barret Wallace, directly after checking his watch, has proceeded to politely boot all the patrons out except for me and the three AVALANCHE members. Reno and Rude glance at me anxiously as Barret shoves them out the door, Rude especially looking concerned, even behind his sunglasses.

I'm all right, I assure them mentally. I'll be fine.

Finally everyone is gone. Barret slams the door shut with an irritated air and turns to Tifa.

"OK, Tif, who's this foo' you wouldn't let me kick out?"

Tifa turns to me in friendly surprise. "You know, that's right, I didn't catch your name."

"Ellie," I reply, only realizing what I've said a moment later after continuing, "Ellie. Highwind."

I can't believe I said that.

_It was a month after achieving Turk status, a month after reuniting with Marianne, a perfect month, a month in heaven, I was blissfully happy. _

_Tseng had sent me a memo earlier that day. _

_To: Elena Angelo _

_Department: Administrative Research _

_Subject: Meeting _

_Elena, please report to the board room at 5 PM, executive meeting._

_-Jordan Tseng _

_I was in a theatre group at that point, just something to do in my spare time, that was before people found out I was a Turk of course, then I quit because critics began to act like if they said they didn't like the show I'd blow their heads off, which was ironically amusing but quite untrue. To congress, we had been rehearsing "Loveless", I was playing the lead role as Rinoa- that was actually the first season Loveless had been produced in Midgar, though it had been done in Rocket Town for years, _

_I was the first actress to play the famous part of Rinoa (and wear the extremely infamous dress), a tidbit that almost no one knows about me- and since my schedule was tight, I wore my costume to the meeting. _

_I assumed it was only going to be me and Tseng, as the memo had been from him, and Tseng didn't care much what I looked like when I showed up for meetings, his only issue was that I wasn't drunk or high, and he never had to worry about that, I didn't drink often- not as much as Reno, anyway- and I've never done drugs in my life. Anyway, I wore Rinoa's dress- tight and sleeveless, mock satin (the drama group couldn't afford the real thing), deep royal purple like Marianne's eyes had been before the mako dusted them green. _

_I walked into the ShinRa building, ignored the secretary, ran up two flights of stairs with the skirt of Rinoa's dress hiked up around my knees, and arrived just on time at the board room, throwing open the doors triumphantly, then turning very unhappily white when I realized that the board meeting wasn't with only Tseng, after all._

_"Well, well," said professor Hojo, in a tone that was impossible to recognize as either serious or joking, "It appears that the Turk's uniforms have been changed. Why do people not inform me of these things?"_

_"Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery," said Scarlet smugly, "But next time, dear, make it red. A lady always looks best in red." _

_I looked at Tseng desperately. His lip was twitching, but he said very seriously, "Actually, Elena's just come from a mission at a high-scale club, she wore that dress to fit in. How did it go, Elena?"_

_"Oh, fine," I ad-libbed. "I got the information we needed!"_

_I'm not sure either Scarlet or Hojo quite believed this, but neither of them said anything. Instead Hojo pulled a file folder away from Scarlet and said conversationally, "Well, do sit down, Miss D'Angelo." _

_I blinked and stood stupidly for a second before he realized he was talking to me. "Miss D'Angelo?"_

_"Angelo," I corrected, sitting. "Miss Elena Angelo."_

_"Indeed. Well, Miss D'Angelo, we are here to discuss-" his sunglasses seemed to glitter with overblown menace- "Spies." _

_I cocked an eyebrow. _

_"Shaddup, Hojo, you make it sound like the world's going to end!" snapped Scarlett, then laughed. I gritted my teeth and saw Tseng do the same out of the corner of my eye. Scarlet finished her horrible sheep laugh and continued, "What my melodramatic colleague here means is that there's- kyahaha-" more teeth gritting "haha, someone in the company trying to, haha," grit grit, "give out company secrets to rebel groups like AVALANCHE. Kyahahahaaa!" Tseng and I expected it that time, so it wasn't as bad. "That's right." Affirmed Hojo very seriously. "Spies."_

_Scarlett rolled her eyes. "Old geezer." _

_Hojo bristled. "Wanton fool."_

_"Mad scientist!"_

_"Sadistic hussy!"_

_"Obsessive freak!" _

_Hojo stuck his nose in the air. "I refuse to engage in a battle of wits with such an unarmed woman." _

_Tseng buried his head in his hands. _

_"So, what's the issue?" I asked professionally. _

_"Kya ha- oh, sorry, Tseng, I forgot you were sensitive- the issue is that we want to be able to both raise Midgar citizen's loyalty and take out these 'spies' at the same time. Which means" she smiled, and I cocked an eyebrow, as we said at the same time, "public executions." _

_Tseng rolled his eyes. "Oh. Joy. And I assume you want the Turks to carry them out?" _

_"Who else?" continued Scarlet smoothly. "Especially Miss Elena here, we really want her to be more well known-"_

_"You mean you want her to scare the shit out of more people." _

_Scarlet smiled. "Exactly. Here, look this way, Elena." I did so and she nodded, satisfied. "Very good. Piercing gaze, high cheekbones- it'll be no problem, getting people to fear her just as much as Reno or Rude. Well, it shouldn't be any problem." _

_She shrugged, then stood up suddenly, shoving the table away from herself and therefore straight into Tseng and I. "Well, then, you know, be prepared. That concludes our meeting." _

_Hojo rose as well and they walked away. Tseng looked at me. "Have you picked up a side job as a street whore, El Dorado?" _

_I scowled. "I just came from my 'Loveless' rehearsal, Mr. Tseng. Give me a break, c'mon."_

_His expression was unreadable for a second, then he laughed heartily. "I see. Well, back to business. About what Scarlet said, you sure you're up to it, El?" _

_I smiled, leaned back in my chair, pulling my feet up close to my legs. "Of course. C'mon, Tseng, what could go wrong?" _

_If only I had known._

"OK, Ellie," said Tifa. "Here's the plan."

I sat back. "Yeah?"

"AVALANCHE is going to meet back here at about midnight, OK?" I checked my watch. It was only nine. "From here, we'll probably go to the Theatre- Wedge has a key from when he worked on as a stagehand. We're currently looking at a plan to. disable a mako reactor."

I nodded. "So, I can go home until the 'midnight rendezvous'?"

Tifa laughed. "Sure. Just don't be late."

"It's cold," Barret warns me as I open the door and slip out. "Don't freeze your foo ass, honey."

"Right," I reply and close the door. It is cold, especially without my jacket, which Rude took with him on his way out. I let my hair down and shiver. "Rude, that idiot," I murmur, letting myself slip back into my normal voice.

There's someone else here, I realize, out under the awning- I put my hand on the holster of my gun, which is still conveniently nestled in my pocket. I am terse. Dangerous things happen to little girls in the dark. It's just another little girl who steps into the warm light washing out of the Seventh Heaven's window, however. She has a look somehow familiar, with short brown hair pulled back with a red band of cloth and odd, earthy-colored clothing over dark brown combat boots much like Lockhart's. Her green eyes are inquisitive and friendly, but her voice rasps as she inquires, "Got a light?"

I am startled and jump slightly, but manage to smile and nod and hold out a book of matches to her. She takes it and quickly strikes a match against the metal sheeting on the wall, then lights a cigarette in her other hand and tosses the light away, giving the matchbook back to me.

"So you really were with the Shinra," she comments, taking a long drag on her cigarette. I wonder for a second how she reached this conclusion, then realize that SHINRA.INC is stamped onto the cover of the book. She misinterprets my wary look and smiles. "Hey, relax, I'm glad you're working for us. As long as we aren't messing around with SOLDIERs, I'm pretty happy with whoever Tifa decided to recruit. Not that we haven't." she adds, chewing on the filter tensely. "Hired a couple SOLDIERs, I mean."

I raise my eyebrows and try to look interested. This girl is so boring, yet I can't shake this odd, uneasy feeling. not quite déjà vu."What division?"

I'm caught off guard again. "What?"

"What division did you say you were in? I was watching you and Tifa from out here, but I couldn't hear you."

I blink. "I. division. my. I'm working on rockets in Rocket Town." I have no idea whether this is what I actually told Tifa, and, worried, I quickly change the subject. "Why weren't you inside with everyone else?"

The girl smiles sheepishly. "Biggs. he was getting on my nerves. Again. He can be really annoying. Lovable, but annoying."

"I see. So there's Biggs, Wedge, Tifa. don't believe I caught your name."

"I didn't drop it. But I'm Jessica Hylian." She smiles and extends a hand for me to shake. "But go 'head and call me Jessie, K?"

I don't take her outthrust, tobacco-stained paw- I'm too surprised. I'm a fool to be surprised, but I am. Oh, god, I just had to believe there was some mistake.

She lets her hand fall by her hip again, looking more concerned than offended. "Are you OK?"

"Yes," I force myself to say, tinny, like a SOLDIER doll. "Yes, I'm fine."

"And what did you say your name was?"

"Ellie Highwind." I say it quickly, so quickly I hope she won't make it out.

She does. "I see." Her face darkens, looking sort of regretful in the unheeded light of a smoldering cigarette. "I had a friend named Ellie, once. A long time ago."

I raise my eyebrows, broadcasting an emotion I don't feel, and ignoring the sweat running down my neck despite the cold. "Do tell."

"It was a long time ago. and it's stupid, but.." Jessie sighs. "It was my own fault, what happened. I got into some trouble with the Turks, as a kid, and she was the one who stopped them from killing me. I'm not quite sure what happened after that, but her mother was hysterical the day after, 'cause she went missing overnight. At first I thought they killed her, but then I heard about this little blonde Turk bitch named Elena who started training just after. Ellie. so I wondered." she trailed off, but when she picked up again, her voice was resolute. "No. She wouldn't do that, she's too loyal to us down here in the Slums. Or at least she was. Although they might have forced her into it."

Her voice begins to tremble. "I think they killed her, and then started training this Elena girl so people wouldn't ask questions about where Ellie went. Not that anyone would ask, of course."

Jessie blows a puff of smoke out of her mouth and throws her cancer stick to the ground, treading on it. "Slum scum look after themselves. No one cares. especially not the Shinra." Her mouth quirks. "That's why I hate 'em."

"I see.." I whisper, the bittersweet darkness masking my melancholy expression from hearing Jessie's monologue. Jessie is wrong. The ShinRa do care. At least one does, anyway. And she cares far, far too much.


	8. Lost Flower

((Author's note: I honestly have no idea why I'm tackling this story again. It's three years since I conceived it and at least a year and a half since I last finished a half-assedly good chapter. Maybe I'm nostalgic or something, or maybe it's just the fact that I'm getting into fanfiction again. I don't know. But I decided I didn't want to leave Elena hanging, especially since the rest of the story was really meant to be explained in the last few chapters. I hope you enjoy this, everyone. I hope some of the old fans will notice this and pop back for a round, and I hope I'll get some new ones, too. This is a "We're glad to be back" from me and Ellie.))

I feel as though I am ten years old.

I know what Tseng would say to do. "Sort through, El Dorado. If you feel like you can't go on, don't go on. Review the evidence instead. When you get back to the present, you'll know what to do." It's a method that never failed me before. But- oh god- this is one story that goes back so far. Do I have the strength to put my emotions aside and act the Turk?

_ I have to._

_ Six years old. Midgar. The kidnapping. Yes, yes. I've been through all that. Jessie, Marianne, Tseng and Rude and __Reno_

_ Nineteen. A Turk._

_ A Turk and Marianne. Oh god, no. No. I don't want to think about that. Current evidence. Current situation. Stop living in the past, Elena. Stop living in the past. _It's a _ripping_ feeling, pulling myself away from the memories, memories I've been keeping at bay for years now.

_Current evidence._

_Avalance__ Acts of terrorism. Espionage, sabotage. Don't get involved yet, Tseng said. Don't make our presence know. Heidigger has plans, big ones, and they're plans that insist the Turks not yet- officially or otherwise- make their move. This is dead-undercover. Black op. X-file'd._

Alright. Yes. But oh god. I wasn't expecting

_Jessie._

_Can I still do it, knowing she's here?_

I quell the thought almost instantly. That's not even a question I'm allowed to ask myself. I have no choice. Not really. Gold-gilded prison, the phrase is, I think.

For a second, I feel angry. Irrationally, I know, but it overwhelms me, puts pressure on my heart and lungs. How dare she, how dare she. How dare she be with AVALANCHE?! How _dare_ she work against me?!

But then again- my heart sinks- she as well as said that she joined AVALANCHE _because_ of me. Because of what had happened- what she _believed_ had happened to me. Another wave of anger. My vision is almost swimming red. This is ridiculous. Ridiculous! How could she not recognize me? I'm a blonde Turk named Elena! She's deluding herself. If she was honest with herself she'd know. The fact that I said I was Ellie from Rocket Town, that's no excuse. She should know. She should _know_.

But if she was honest with herself my cover would be blown. I'd be in danger, we'd all be in danger. Or _would_ I?

I feel sick to my stomach. No. This isn't the way it's supposed to work. They're supposed to be blank faced, they're supposed to have no last names. They're supposed to be easy targets, who move a lot but slowly. They scream in the same tones. They die in the same way, in the same place. I close my eyes and one is another. They do not have homes. They do not have families. They do not have lives.

They are not my childhood friends.

"A flower, miss?" Soft voice, sappishly feminine.

The voice startles me right out of my reverie and, again irrationally, this infuriates me. Who dares to interrupt me? Don't they know I'm a-

_A Turk?_ A little voice inside me says. _Since when have you tried to play that card?_

I look at her.

She is a slender girl, more so than I, tall and about my age, with long, long honeybrown hair and bright green eyes. She is obnoxiously beautiful, and wears a dress which equals this obviousness in its too girlish, too _pink_ nature. She holds a wicker basket of flowers.

Where did she find flowers in the slums?

They have pink blossoms. They look like chicken bones.

"Miss? They're only a gil. You have a boyfriend?"

_Bitch._

I don't know where the thought comes from but somehow it is vehement and vengeful and I do not fight it.

_You bitch. You WHORE! I could have BEEN you! I SHOULD be-_

"You _bitch_," I hiss between gritted teeth.

This quite understandably takes her aback. "Miss?"

"Do you know who I bloody am?"

I pull out my ID badge from headquarters. At the same time I spit, "I'm _YOU_."

_Good god. Am I losing it?_

She looks confused and, once she's seen the badge, terrified. Again quite understandably. But- I _hate_ her. I don't know why. But I can feel it pounding at the inside of my brain. _I hate her, I hate her, I HATE HER._ And in a second I've got her shoved up against the alley wall with one hand, and the other is around her neck.

I want to kill her. I do. And I don't know why. I don't know why. But I want to slowly choke the life out of this, this _bitch_, this _whore_, this _cunt_, and I am calling her words, degrading words, the worst words you can use to defile a female white human in the prime of her life, and they're spewing from between my lips in an angry, hateful voice I don't recognize as my own. On top of it all I feel that anger, that deadly, white-hot fury.

And on top of _that_ I feel jealously. I feel such jealously I could lean over and be sick.

She's losing strength. Her fingers clutch feebly at my hand as she exerts one last effort to get to air.

"HEY!"

I drop my hand as though she has burnt me and we both whirl to look at her saviour. Blonde, mako-eyed, running towards us just as fast as his feet can carry him. Oh god. He's a SOLDIER.

I take to my heels and run through the night and leave myself behind. My footsteps echo on the cobbles. My blonde hair is in my eyes.

_Loveless._

_It was funny, because the next time was right after a Loveless rehearsal, too._

_ I was Rinoa in the Garden scene, today, and I wear a long blue duster and denim shorts and a black tank top. The boy who plays opposite me is a good kisser. The fur collar of his costume brushes my chin as our lips meet. Am I in love with this boy?_

_I actually think I might be, which just confuses me. I thought I was in love with Tseng. I want to drown my problems and worries, which means I need to let my mouth think, go out talking and drinking with somebody. I stop at Marianne's room and knock, then push the door open without waiting for an answer._

_ "Marianne?"_

_ She is kneeling by the couch but as I swing the door open she jumps to her feet instantly. There were papers in her arms but she hurls them behind the sofa as though they are poison. Her vacant Mako gaze is accusing, vaguely fearful._

_ "Marianne?" I say again, hesitant now. "Is this… a bad?…"_

_ The look is gone, the defensive stance is gone. She is striding towards the door. "'Course it en't, Ellie! What's on yer mind?"_

_ "Barhopping," I say eagerly. "Clubbing."_

_ "Sounds awesome!"_

_ Her look is already forgotten._

_Midnight__ that evening.__ Outside the Seventh Heaven in Midgar. Marianne's idea. I've never been there before, but I like it. The barmaid's breasts defy gravity. Or maybe I've drunk too much. We're in the alleyway besides it, still nursing screwdrivers in paper cups._

_ "Ellie?"_

_ "Yeah?"_

_ "Did you want to be a Turk?"_

_ "Yeah," my mouth says, automatically._

_ "Okay."_

_ Our mouths move on to other subjects. My mind wanders back._

_ Did I want to be a Turk?_

_ I enjoy my life as a Turk. I could not have had a better future. Back in the slums, in fact, I had no future. I was another ghetto child, playing in mud puddles, sprayed with the filth splashed from wheels of chocobo wagons, by hands grimy and dirt now replaced by blood under my nails._

_ But did I want to be a Turk?_

_ To put it that way, I suppose I did not. Tseng offered me very little choice, after all. Pulled from my bed at night, I suppose nothing he would have offered me would have appealed to me much, Turk least of all. But no one wants to be a Turk. Tseng didn't. If you ask him why he joined he clams up and tightens his fists and walks with a forcedly less pronounced limp. Rude didn't, he had to do it to support his family, he had no choice with three now-dead mouths to feed. Reno didn't, but Reno had no choice, Reno was sleeping under an awning in a cardboard box, Reno's eyes glazed over with the haze of gyshal greens and Reno's mouth moving soundlessly as he watched the stars._

_ Elena is just like the rest of them. Ellie didn't. Ellie was a slum girl who had challenged the Turks and was suddenly offered the choice between joining their ranks or those of the dead. No choice for a child. She didn't want to do it but she did, and she was good at it, and she grew to like it, and grew to like her colleagues, and eventually grew to, yes, like her job. And now she wouldn't trade it for anything. She's on the top of the world._

_ Does Marianne still talk to Jessie? I open my mouth to ask her and then- and then I don't. I don't know why I don't. I just don't. Somewhere deep inside me there is a feeling that I can't._

_ Suddenly there is a sick feeling in my stomach. Did Ellie sell out? Did she betray everything Midgar gamines stood for, the pluck, the tenaciousness in the face of no past and no future? Did she just grope out the easiest path? Were her morals so weak that she grew to love something she hated? Did she really hate it? Did she ever have the emotions she'd have needed to really, truly 'hate' at all?_

_ Did Ellie kill her family, her friends, her homeland by selling out?_

_ Did Ellie kill herself by becoming Elena?_

_ I ordered another screwdriver. The stars danced in my eyes. I lit match after match until the sun came up and illuminated the first drops of early morning dew._

"Elena?"

I pull the cardkey out of the slot and slip it back into my pocket. I step in and close the door behind me. Rude stares behind his sunglasses. His eyebrows are raised up high in his bald head and it's funny.

Intellectually I understand that it's funny. I don't laugh. I push off my sneakers. "I'm here."

"You're later than I expected. I had Reno on the beat looking for you."

"So PHS him back." My voice is short, tired. I pull my hair out of the ponytail, which was too small and too tight. My face sees me in the mirror. I am not looking pleased. I am not looking patient. Rude is too patient, to pleased, and for a moment I-

"El Dorado. You're beautiful. Don't ruin it by being snappy. Are you all right?"

Why does this make me angry? I snap my head up so my chin tilts almost horizontal. "Don't I look all right, Rudolf? Or can't you see me through your sunglasses?"

Rude stares at me as though he has never seen me before.

"Surprised?"

He is uncomfortable. He is slipping into the Rude he is around everyone except for me. "…. …. …." It's funny because it's not silence. It's like he's actually saying it.

It's fucking pissing me off.

"You're beautiful, you're beautiful," I whine in a nasal voice, cruel imitation. "I'm beautiful. You know when I'm beautiful to you, Rude? When I'm doing something _awful_. When I'm selling someone out. When I've got blood on my hands. That's when I get that look you like so much. That's what you love to see, isn't it?" My voice is rising, high and thin and hysterical. I can't stop myself. My eyes sting. "Not like you can see, through those glasses. Ha! My EYES are beautiful, isn't that what you're always saying?! What right do YOU have to look at my eyes?! I've never even seen yours! You've never even braved it out for the few seconds it would take you to show me! You weak, pathetic-"

And then I fall speechless. Rude has removed his sunglasses and he is staring at me.

It hurts him. I see his pain in his blue-grey eyes.

I hope I can reflect it back to him in my own. Because it hurts me too.

It hurts me that I know my words have wounded him more deeply than any attack he has ever sustained.

It hurts me to know that I have hit a blow into the only person in the entire world who really, really cares about me right now. A physical blow, and an emotional one.

"Put those back on," I choke. "You'll hurt yourself."

He does not put them back on, right away. He just looks at me. He looks beautiful without his sunglasses, or handsome, rather, but terribly, terribly fragile, and I fear that he will break.

I walk to him, take them from his hand and slip them into their old place, protecting his frail vision. "I'm sorry, Rude," I whisper, and I realize all of a sudden that although I am worried for Rude's safety, I am the one who sounds frail. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," he says. That's all- he isn't one for talking- but he means it. He really, really forgives me.

And that breaks my last feeble measure of self-control. I dissolve into sobs and fall into his arms.

"Tell me I'm beautiful. Tell me I'm beautiful!" I cry, pressing myself against him and I can feel him hold me tighter.

"You're beautiful, El Dorado," he replies quietly. "You're beautiful. You're beautiful. You're beautiful."

"But how? _How, _when I feel so ugly?"

And I know, as I ask it, that it is not a question he can answer.

Abruptly I push myself away from Rude, suddenly dry-eyed, suddenly calm. I glance at myself in the mirror. My eyes are a little red, a touch puffy, but otherwise I look all right. My tears were wholehearted but they didn't last long- I've managed to save at least some face. Suddenly brisk, businesslike, I shove my gun deeper into my pocket, put my hair back into the ponytail, look (too?) seriously at Rude. "I've got to be back. By midnight."

"I see."

"I'm doing it tonight."

"What, though? Did Tseng brief you on that?"

"I don't know," I say, briskly. "I'll kill them. Or at least break them up. I don't know. I'll call Tseng."

"Elena," Rude says, awkwardly.

My real name catches my attention. I look at him in confusion.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?"

No, I'm not. Not at all.

"Yes." I say. I slip my shoes back on. "I've got to go. I'll see you later. Probably in the morning. Don't wait up."

I close the door behind me.

I leave.

I know now, deep inside, what it is that I must do.


	9. A Token Of Love

This is how it happens.

I push through the thickness of the Midgar night, face set in my Valkyrie mask, and I make myself a promise. After this, I'm going far away. On a vacation. A leave of absence. Stress leave, something. I'm going. And I won't come back unless Tseng begs me to.

This is how it happens.

I see the rendezvous point Jessie told me, the theatre. I make myself a promise. I won't break like that again, will not shatter the way I just did with Rude. I'll build myself a mask. Cheerful, I think, eyes slitted with near-humor. Maybe even a little clumsy. Blabbermouthed. What an idea. I'll build myself this mask, these walls of Elena, and I will hide behind them, and I'll nurse Ellie back to health.

_This is how it happened._

_It was our last performance of Loveless. I had roses in my arms. And I dare to ask myself – for the first time – if I hadn't been a Turk, could I have done this? As a living, I mean? I am a thin blonde and I'm a great actress and I'm told I have stage presence and a great pair of legs. And it doesn't matter where you come from, if you go into show business. The audiences love a Cinderella story. Ellie would be welcomed with open arms._

_I poke and prod at the thought of that future as though at a still-tender bruise. Elena the actress. Elena the innocent. Elena, who didn't even know how to use a gun._

_What a ridiculous idea._

_The last show was a matinee and I had told Tseng I'd report to work afterwards. Rude, who had come and led the standing ovation, walked me back, carrying my roses piled high in his arms. I look funny, pulled out of the pages of a fashion magazine, in my pressed blue suit and stage makeup. I am ecstatic. Reviews were wonderful. The performances were wonderful. I've got a dinner date with the boy who played Squall._

_Rude isn't saying much, but that's not unusual._

_In the office, Tseng greets me. "El Dorado. How did it go?"_

"_Over very well," I babble, smiling fit to split. "We had a standing ovation."_

"_Don't you always?"_

"_It's because they know you're a Turk," Reno provided in a genial aside, from his corner. He was scowling, smoking something foul. "They're too afraid not to clap. You actually don't even have to go out on the stage."_

_Rude casually thumps him on the back of the head._

"_Do it again," I laugh._

_Rude thumps him on the head again._

"_I stand by what I said," Reno says._

"_Again," I grin, and Rude complies._

"_Elena, you talk too much," Reno whines, but now he too is laughing._

"_Today, my dear child, marks the advent of your second great public performance," Tseng tells me with joking solemnity._

_  
"Oh yeah?" I say cheerfully. Rude lays down my bushel of roses in a swivel chair. "And what's that?"_

"_The Scarlettian opera," Reno provides._

_I roll my eyes. "Oh, right, that public execution crap. That's starting today?"  
_

"_If you feel you need some time to prefer yourself, Innocent Miss Elena," Tseng begins, mock-seriously._

_I swat at him, laughing. "Don't be a hater, Tseng," Reno says judiciously. "She's a great actress, our little Ellie."_

_I turn on my heel. "Don't call me that," I rap out, and there is a thoroughly awkward silence._

"_Okay," Reno says finally. "Don't have a cow."_

_I turn back to Tseng, my merriment extinguished. "Where am I headed, then, oh fearless leader?"_

_Tseng glances at a memo on the table. "The public stadium, 16:00 hours. You're executing the spy. The double agent."_

"_Oh?" I said unconcernedly, taking out my compact and beginning to remove my stage makeup. "They found her out, did they?"_

"_Me," Reno said proudly. "It was me. I found her out. Ten points."_

_  
"Maybe five."_

"_Ten," he insists. "She was in SOLDIER and everything. Super-duper snitch. The entire ShinRa empire in indebted to me."_

_  
You'd think I would have known, then. Sensed something. "Most be Tuesday," I said lightly, and snatched up my purse to leave. "Don't worry, Tseng, I'll bring my favorite rifle and wear my Sunday best. It'll all go over like a dream."_

I knock on the theatre door, to all appearances abandoned. I can hear muttering inside, see flickers of motion in little chinks in the wall.

"It's Ellie," I hear someone whisper, and the doors slide open.

"Hi, Tifa," I say with a smile, stepping inside. She's carrying a materia lamp; quickly closes the door behind me again. Near Tifa, sitting in the abandoned seats of the theatre, is the rest of Avalanche. Barret. Wedge. Biggs. So long, boys.

Jessie.

"What's happening?" I ask, taking off my jacket, as though I intend to stay a while.

"Big night already," Tifa replied. "We just found out security's light on the Eastbound train. We were thinking of hijacking."

I play concern across Ellie Highwind's face. "Isn't that – sort of short notice, like?"

"There's no time like the present. You can't wait around with stuff like this," Tifa says wisely. She smiles at me, trying to be reassuring. "Why, what's the matter? Is this stuff a little too radical for you?"

"Actually, I was thinking of introducing a radical a lot sooner," I say with a smile, and pull the handgun from my purse, and spray AVALANCHE with bullets.

_I reported to the stadium, to guards who wouldn't meet my eyes. A very unique privilege of the Turks. I asked them where to go._

_They directed me down a cement hall and I mused, cool, very philosophical. It was a strange set-up, really, Scarlett's murders-for-show. I had no illusions about what this was, of course, I told myself as I turned a corner. I mean, these deaths would take place in the same location baseball games and rock concerts would be held over the next week. Did Scarlett really believe that this was all about refining the image of the Turks, turning us into killing machines in the minds of the public? _

_I rested in a green room full of lockers, ready to be called out to do my civic duty, to earn my paycheque. No, even Scarlett must understand that this had nothing to do with PR, with politics. She was simply providing the public with entertainment, in its most streamlined form. Maybe I could be an actress, after all, I mused as I waited. I was certainly already a performer._

_A young soldier – just a private officer, not a SOLDIER of any class – stepped into the locker room, stiffening to salute. I blinked, not used to such deferential treatment. "Agent D'Angelo," he said stiffly, holding himself at threadbare attention._

_I nodded briefly. By this time, I'd given up trying to correct people about my name. "You can – stand down, soldier," I assured him, the military command rolling somewhat awkwardly off my tongue. "What's the news?"_

"_They're ready for you." His eyes were wary of me, and he hadn't relaxed; no, Scarlett was wrong, I certainly didn't need my image enhanced._

"_And you're going to give me my instructions, are you?"_

_He stiffened noticeably. "Agent D'Angelo, if you'd prefer I – "_

"_No, I need the instructions," I laughed. "Scarlett would have a sheep fit if everything didn't go to the very letter of procedure. Please go ahead."_

"_Yes, Agent." He glanced at the memo cradled in his palm. "At exactly 16:20 hours, you're to step out of the greenroom, into viewing range – eyeshot – of the spectators and cameras. The spy will be handcuffed at the far end of the stadium. Now, this is an exhibition of your test and range as well, so you're to take the shot from this end, within at most meters of the door?"_

"_Meters of the door?" I smiled, testing him. "Isn't the stadium… like… massive? I won't even be able to make out this 'spy's face. What makes you think I can get a shot off?"_

_He gulped. "If you'd like me to – relay your reluctance to Miss Scarlett -- "_

_I laughed again. I wouldn't put the poor guy through that. "That's fine," I said. "I've got my credentials as a sniper. I don't think it will be a problem." I glanced at the clock; mere minutes to go. "Well," I said. "Is that it?"_

"_That more or less covers it," he nodded, eager to be rid of me._

"_Thank you," I called to his retreating back, as the door swung shut on him._

_When the appointed time arrived, I rose, took my rifle, and stepped out into the sunlight for that day's second massive cheer._

I didn't hit them, of course. But then, I didn't intend to. My intent was to scare, not to kill.

Immediately, however, I realized I should have gone for kill – because "scare" had been a total failure. Rather than screaming or running away, the group abruptly vanished – dashing in zigzags to make themselves harder to hit, following what was obviously a predetermined escape pattern. They hadn't even hesitated. This AVALANCHE outfit was serious, I realized; much more professional than I'd anticipated.

And, possibly, rather more lethal. Because Tifa hadn't fled – she'd thrown a dolphin kick at my hand that set my nerves burning, then numb, and tossed my firearm across the room. She followed it up with a quick one-two of punches and low kicks that I had no hope of blocking. Wolf in sheep's clothing. Eye candy? This lethal girl with ice in her eyes? I had been a fool.

Seconds into my spectacular raid of AVALANCHE, I'd already made an equally spectacular mess of things. I was bruised, and weaponless, and Tifa looked intent on finishing me off.

Then I heard someone's yelp, giving away their position, hidden behind the mouldy curtain's on the stage. "Don't!"

And I knew who that someone was.

Jessie.

The scream distracted Tifa and I had my chance and, as a Turk, I knew how to use it. I pulled down with my elbow on the nape of her neck and dropped simultaneously, so that all my weight came down on her at once. The move was fast and occasionally fatal and nearly failsafe; Tifa dropped like a top-heavy tonne of bricks, still gasping breaths where she lay on the floor of the theatre, but out of the game. For now, anyway.

I went for my gun. Shifted it to my left hand – my right was useless, Tifa had probably broken a few fingers.

And I went for my real quarry, who was still hiding behind those blood-red curtains, unless she'd fled.

_Stepped into the sunlight, to a resounding cheer from the crowd._

_And then there was quiet._

_  
I took my time. Let them get a look at me. Loaded my gun, double-checked it, slowly as I could. Still, I didn't play to the crowd, didn't pander. I was a Turk. We had more dignity than that._

_  
Dead silence in the arena now. I could see the figure chained at the opposite end of the stadium. Too far away, too blurred, to make out form or features – just as I had suspected. Still, everyone had a heart and brain in more or less the same place, didn't they? No real trouble there._

_I placed the rifle on my shoulder and placed the remote spy in my sights._

_And then a voice shattered the silence – the voice of the woman I was aiming at. Clear, and true, and loud as a bell._

"_I forgive you," she called._

_There was a murmur, in the stands. People were shifting, were uncomfortable._

_I was uncomfortable, too. There was something nostalgic – something so strangely familiar – in that voice. What WAS it?_

_  
The murmurs grew louder, uncertain. I realized people were waiting for me to say something. To clear up this ambiguity, this uncomfortable pity the doomed woman had incurred._

_  
And, not coincidentally, to prove my worth as a Turk._

_Think fast._

"_Me too," I called back across the stadium in my best cool, polished actress' voice, dripping sophisticated, lethal sarcasm. It wasn't the best line. With more time, I could have done better. Still, it served my purpose; the people in the stands (and, I'm sure, the people watching from the comfort of their own homes) laughed as freely as they dared, reassured and relieved. Watching. And silent again._

_  
She said nothing, after that. I put her in my sights._

_She went down instantly, when I pulled the trigger._

I can hear Jessie, although I can't see her. Ragged gasping. Heavy footfalls. She's not been trained to be silent, the way I have. She's running for her very life.

Bet she's regretting saving me now.

We're going up a pitch-black staircase, floorboards so thin and creaky that I fear one of us may fall through. I'm bent double so that I can run my hand along the stairs as I ascend them – falling at this speed would mean bruises at best. I might well even knock myself out, at this speed. I wonder if Jessie's doing the same thing.

_The spectators went home._

_I went to take a shower, cold clear water coursing over my skin. It felt good. I felt alive, in the face of death. It was such a cliché, but it was true. I must have stood there, scalding myself, for nearly half an hour; by the time I emerged, reddened and damp and bare, everyone had gone home._

_I got dressed, and then, predictably enough, I got lost. I wandered up and down the halls of the stadium, completely disoriented, totally embarrassed. I'd been so sure that I was gorgeous-and-deadly just an hour before, but if anyone saw me in this state their fear and awe for Elena Of The Turks would fly right out the window._

_Finally I found a red door. Looked promising; I hadn't seen it before. I grasped the handle, turned it._

_It was the other locker room. A doctor was in there, back to me, making notes on a clipboard. The body of the spy, the SOLDIER, the woman I'd shot down, lay limply on a bench. Long, lithe frame. Long golden hair. Thin smile, even in the grave._

_I was suddenly shaking, holding onto the doorframe. I knew why the voice had seemed familiar. And I knew I knew this body.  
_

_Marianne._

I corner her. We've run up to the attic of the theatre. No way out. She's like a wounded animal, cowering in the corner, snarling at me as I emerge, panting, into the moonlight the room's little windows let in, into the midst of the dust and the props covered over with sheets, into Jessie's sights.

"I know you," she spits at me as we stand regarding each other. I watch her evenly. "I know who you are I mean," she hisses. "You don't fool me now."

"I'm amazed I managed to fool you at all." And amazed at how steady my voice is. It's calm and collected and no mirror to how I feel inside. "Ellie Highwind? That was enough to trick you? That's pathetic. I haven't even changed my looks."

"I didn't want to believe it," Jessie snarls.

I shrug.

"You sold out."

"I survived."

"You betrayed your past."

"I made myself a future."

"I saw it on TV. The whole world saw it. I saw you."

"You saw me?"

"You killed Marianne."

It's like a slap.

I stare at her. I shake my head. And I say what I've come to believe, after all these long hard years. In word, if not in deed.

"Marianne killed herself."

Jessie is silent, staring at me. "I didn't want to believe it was you," she said. "Those reports, those anecdotes, bloody Elena, ShinRa's golden child. I didn't want to believe you were that fake. That you'd sell out."

"Stop tossing those words around like they mean something," I spit back. "I didn't sell out. I survived. Which is more than can be said of Marianne and – "

"And what?" said Jessie. "More than can be said of me?" She spread her arms, tilted her chin up, daring me. "Do it," she said. "You left the slums. You bought your goddamn golden future. You've got no reason not to." Her voice begins to shake. It reminds me of a violin, thin and trembling and high. "You – I can only guess you accepted this mission – knowing it was me, knowing it was your old home, knowing it – why else would you take it?" she demands. She doesn't even look angry, just beautiful, like the betrayed woman in a black-and-white movie. "To kill me, to destroy all the links, to –"

"To deliver you a message." I toss my gun on the floor between us.

A cloud of dust rises, like snow. Jessie stares at it.

"This message," I tell her, and I know, as I say it, that it is true. "I'm alive and I'm well and I'm living in Midgar. I wanted you to know that, Jessie. And I wanted you to know I still care about you and that I'm sorry about what happened with Marianne. I truly am. And I'm sorry that we're on opposite sides now. I truly am, I'm sorry about the way things worked out. But that's the way fate works out."

Jessie is still looking down, not meeting my eyes. "Look at me," I order her, and she does. "Tifa's alive and so are you," I said. "I'm leaving. Next time I meet you I'll kill you. We're on opposite sides now. So let's try not to meet. That's it," I said. "I'm done here. That's all."

"So what is this?" She said softly. "A warning? A line in the sand?"

"Call it a token of love," I suggested.

And I turned my back on her and left that attic, full of ancient things, and then and forever, I left my past behind.

THE END

_A/N: No way! It's done! Crazy! You feel deeply moved and compelled to review. This is Locked Heart Ami, signing off._


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